


The Rosy Hue of the Fell Beast

by hanarobi



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-17
Updated: 2010-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-06 09:54:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanarobi/pseuds/hanarobi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is what happens when I wake up at 4:30 and can't go back to sleep and check out the webcam for Wellington and it is the wee morning hours there after the premiere and everything is deserted, except for the red lights of the theatre illuminating the fell beast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rosy Hue of the Fell Beast

They had formed an unstoppable force, the combination of their bodies, and as that force they had swooped down upon him with greater intent and purpose than any fell beast ever could.

"We're getting you out of here and into a bed. Now."

It was his hobbit posse. His guys. And they were talking at him. Probably talking about him. He was having a hard time keeping things straight. He just gave them a smile. An actor's smile. One that didn't come from inside but was a play of facial muscles, practiced so many times by this point in his life that it was more instinct than many of his private responses.

"It's so great to be here. It's just overwhelming. New Zealand is like home to me. I'll be back, I know it."

"God, he's stuck on repeat."

"Do ya think he even knows who he's talking to at this point?"

"Okay, guys, let's get him out of here. I swear you can feel the heat from him from three feet away."

And then arms are taking hold of him, voices are making excuses for him, and suddenly, blissfully, he is away from the noise and light. His eyes are burning, his throat is aching, everything just fuckin' hurts. He leans against someone, not sure who, and not caring.

The car arrives and all four of them tumble into it, shoving at him, then pulling from the inside. He gets in. He doesn't need hands on him. He knows how to get into a stupid car. He stumbles and knocks his shin on the running board. It hurts like fuck and he begins to tear up. No big surprise. He's been doing that for the last few hours. It's ending. It can't be ending. He can't let go. Not yet. He can't leave. So why is he in this car? Leaving? No…he starts to get back out before he is ever fully in.

"Whoa. Nope, mate, back in. Need to get you out of here."

"Gotta say good-bye. Don't wanna leave."

"Already did. To everyone. More than once."

"Don't want it to be over. Stay."

"Bed. You're a wreck man, come on."

"Elijah, get in the car."

"Fuck all of you."

"Come on, baby, get in the car."

And somehow, his body just gives up and he falls forward, caught by arms belonging to hobbits, but he'll be damned if he can sort them out at this moment. It doesn't matter. They catch him. That does matter. It is all that matters. He assumes the arms are Sam's.

He wakes up and the room is dark and he isn't sure where he is. He fumbles for his glasses and a light switch. He finds one but not the other. He squints against the light, sorting out blurs. Hotel. Suitcase. Where the fuckin' hell are his glasses? He remembers then Dom taking out his contacts for him. That was nice. Didn't think to give him his glasses though. Bastard. Sean had some hot drink that tasted like metallic lemons and cardboard. Made him drink it. Bastard pseudo parent figure. Bed. Billy tucked him in. That was nice. Then they left him. Bastards. All of them. Bet they went back to the party. The farewell party. He starts to tear up again.

He staggers to the bathroom, relieves himself, and then locates his glasses in the travel bag sitting by the sink. He washes his face and the world begins to make more sense. He reminds himself that he has the flu and he is emotionally exhausted. He made it through the premiere. He isn't a sobbing mess in the corner of the room. He made it. He needs some coffee.

While the little coffee pot in his room is chugging away giving him black liquid from heaven, he gets dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. Clothes he understands. He's looked out the window but there isn't much to see. He takes his mug of coffee with him as he leaves his room.

The taxi delivers him to Courtenay Place within minutes. The driver, of course, recognizes him and refuses the fare. So he gets a monstrous tip instead. They both grin and say thank you at the same time. They both mean so much more than the ride and the tip.

It's hard to believe how empty it is. The stands are gone. The crowd barriers are gone. The red carpet is gone. All that is left is the red glow from the theatre, lighting the fell beast a sweet rosy hue as it lunges down the front of the building.

"Never did get me, did you, you motherfucker?"

He has this intense, insane desire to stroke its nose and pat it on the head. God, he doesn't even want to let go of the monsters.

He turns and looks back over the walkway that he was on just hours ago. He wishes he could remember more of it. He wishes he had enjoyed it more while it was happening but there was just too much to take it all in at the time. He wishes it were cold because he has the urge to cram his hands in his pockets but he isn't wearing a coat so his hands just hang oddly for a moment before he thinks to light up a clove.

He meanders. There's just no other word for it. He sees a streamer. A purple one. And wrapped around a pole further down, a red one. He gathers them up as he walks. Mementos he won't ever mention in some interview when asked about souvenirs he took from his time in New Zealand. The bits left behind that prove it all happened.

He stands there, completely alone at the scene of his triumph.

The child star from Hollywood who never really arrived had pulled it off. The films were successful beyond any original hope. He had delivered them a Frodo that would be an icon. And no one had been sure that he could. He certainly hadn't been. All that new stuff to learn how to do. All the weirdness of the acting for special effects. Bluescreen, CGI, absolutely no continuity of character development. Going places, literally and emotionally, he had never imagined. That he didn't know he could go to. That he wasn't sure he could come back from.

He feels the flu returning and making demands on his attention. God, every joint in his body is about to burst and moving at all is starting to really hurt. He knows he has to get back to bed so that they can find him when it is time to pour him onto a plane to get him back to LA for the next round of publicity. He can't and won't cancel any of it. That's not what consummate professionals do. And he is a professional. If any one ever had doubts about him, they have been answered by now.

Four years and three months. From 18 to 22, almost 23. Basically it was college for him. Home schooled and then New Zealand schooled. He can't imagine a better education. Happy Graduation, he think.

His eyes are really burning now and he closes them gingerly against the stinging. He almost regrets leaving his bed to come here. Almost. He is done with it all now. The rest of the publicity juggernaut doesn't really count. It won't be about this. About being here and feeling the connections to people and places and events and memories. This is the very last of it. The bitter dregs that you cherish the most because they are the end of it. He opens his eyes and sees that the sun is coming up. His final New Zealand sunrise.

And suddenly, he is happy. He still has tears in his eyes, doesn't even try to stop them. He watches the sunrise, revels in the colors, feels the cool morning air. He hears a bus come up the road. He knows that if anyone looks in his direction he will be recognized and his moment of peace will be over.

He doesn't mind. He has had his moment now. He can turn loose. It is okay. He doesn't know what just shifted for him, but something did. He's okay now. He's not facing the Gray Havens, just the rest of his life. It will be okay. No. It will be better than okay. It will be good. Even without all of this, all that he is having such a hard time turning loose, it will be a good life. In part, because of all of this. He smiles as he realizes that he quite likes the idea of having grown up.

He more senses than hears the taxi. So he isn't surprised when it pulls up along side him and Dom gets out, still wearing the black leather pants from last night.

"How'd you find me?"

"Went to check on you and when you weren't there but the coffee was made, I just kinda figured this was where you'd be. The hotel says you better make sure the mug gets back."

"Shit, I think I left it in the taxi."

"Gonna get charged for that."

"New Line will pay. It'll be fine."

"You okay?"

"Just tired. A bit…you know. Much."

"Yeah, a bit."

"Hey, Dom…"

"Yeah."

"Get me back to the hotel, okay?"

"Sure, baby, that's why I'm here."

"Thanks. I owe you."

"Anytime. You know that."

"Yeah, I do."

Elijah was asleep, his head against Dom's chest, before they had gone a block.

As daylight came upon the city, the lights on the fell beast clicked off.


End file.
